


The Stowaway

by Saras_Girl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-21 13:22:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2469758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saras_Girl/pseuds/Saras_Girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Harry and Draco wanted was a quiet weekend in the Lake District, but they may have made a small tack-tical error... [All Life is Yours to Miss-verse]</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stowaway

Draco stops on the pavement just in front of the hotel and turns to look at Harry, who seems to be struggling as he makes his way across the road with their wheeled suitcase in tow.

“Are you sure you’re alright with that thing? I don’t know why you didn’t just put a Lightening Charm on it,” he says, lowering his voice as two smartly-dressed old ladies bustle past him and into the gleaming revolving doors.

Harry hoists the case up onto the kerb and grimaces. “I’m fine. It’s hardly as though I’ve had to drag it very far; the Apparation Point was... wow.” He falls silent and gazes out over the sparkling surface of the water. “We really are right on the lake.”

Draco shoots him a stern look and then turns his attention to the view. “Of course we are. I do my research, you know. Our room will be overlooking the water.”

Harry sighs, tipping his head back as the fresh breeze ruffles through his hair. “Brilliant.”

Secretly pleased, Draco merely raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know what all the fuss is about. We already live right next to a lake. Surely one great big puddle is just like another.”

Harry snorts and turns to him, mouth tugging into a familiar smile—one that tells Draco in no uncertain terms that Harry can see right through him.

“Lake Windermere is the biggest lake in the whole country, Draco. And, more importantly than that, it is several hundred miles away from any of our students.”

Draco inhales deeply, allowing the mingled scents of spring and rippling water and hot chips to settle in around him. “There are children here, too,” he points out, indicating a pair of giggling girls throwing seed for the swans at the edge of the lake.

“Yeah,” Harry says, taking his hand and squeezing it. “But none of them are our responsibility.”

Draco glances at him, taking in the warm promise in the green eyes, and he smiles. This might just be a weekend away in the Lakes, but it is their first holiday together, their first attempt at spending time together away from Hogwarts, and Draco’s first time staying in a Muggle hotel. If Draco’s honest, the whole thing is rather exciting, and the thrill is only compounded by the fact that Harry’s little wheely suitcase definitely does not contain enough clothing to allow either of them to spend much time outside of the hotel room.

“Come on,” Draco says, suddenly quite anxious to get inside and get comfortable. “We should check in.”

Smirking, Harry reclaims his hand and starts pulling the case over the ground again, following Draco through the revolving doors and into the vast lobby, where the little wheels rattle loudly on the marble floor. Determined to make the most of this new experience, Draco approaches the desk and quickly loses himself in the process of forms and instructions and keys and lipsticked smiles.

Five minutes later, they are pushing open a heavy door and marvelling at their beautiful, light-flooded room. The view is outstanding, and, Draco is pleased to note, the bed is one of the biggest he has ever seen. He definitely remembers one bigger, many years ago in an ancient chateau, but he had had to share the chamber with a perpetually drunk French ghost, and besides, a bed can only be so large before one feels as though one might get lost in it.

“Do I even want to know what you’re thinking about?” Harry asks, slipping his fingers into Draco’s belt loops and pulling gently until they are only inches apart.

“Probably not,” Draco admits. He leans in and brushes his lips against Harry’s. The suitcase falls over with a thomp and they both jump.

“Maybe the hotel is haunted,” Harry says, letting go of Draco with a grin. “I think I’ll unpack this just in case... don’t want any randy old ghosts interfering with... well, interfering.”

Draco laughs and allows himself to drop backwards onto the bed. The mattress seems to know him already and he sinks into it, throwing out his arms and closing his eyes as he listens to Harry’s footsteps and soft mutterings.

“Why,” he grumbles as he heaves the little case onto the bed beside Draco, “is this so fucking heavy?”

Draco doesn’t open his eyes, but he holds his tongue for as long as it takes Harry to unzip the case, and then he mumbles, “I told you—you should have used a...”

“Well, that would explain it,” Harry says faintly.

Draco opens one eye. Harry is staring into the suitcase with a look of amused exasperation, and Draco can’t quite decide if he wants to know.

“Tack?” says the suitcase, and Draco just covers his face with his hands, but not before he sees a very familiar antenna poking out of the case and waving around curiously.

“No,” Draco says firmly.

Harry laughs, and there’s a creak and a rustle as he frees the infernal beetle from the suitcase and picks him up. “How did you get in there, hmm?”

Tack-tack-tack! Stanley clicks excitedly, and Draco hauls himself upright, gazing sternly at the beetle and trying not to smile as he launches himself out of Harry’s arms and proceeds somewhat unsteadily over the bedspread towards him. His little leather boots scrabble against Draco’s thighs as he climbs into his lap and turns in circles, tacking delightedly.

Draco lets out a long sigh and absently strokes the shiny patterned shell. “Where was he?”

“Hiding under one of your shirts,” Harry says, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “What are we going to do with him?”

Before Draco has chance to reply, a sharp tap at the window makes him look up. A large owl is sitting on the narrow sill, peering in at them with gleaming orange eyes. Harry rises and retrieves the scrap of parchment, and Draco keeps his eyes on the owl, who seems to be waiting for a response, and also seems to be eyeing Stanley in a rather predatory manner. Draco scowls at the bird and cradles Stanley protectively; he may be a very naughty beetle indeed, but he’s here now, and Draco would rather parade through the hotel naked than let anything happen to him.

“It’s Hagrid,” Harry says.

“Hagrid,” Draco sighs, eyes widening. “He must’ve come to pick you up and wondered where on earth you’d got to,” he tells Stanley, who merely clicks and lashes his antennae against Draco’s fingers. “What does he say?”

“Not much,” Harry says, amused. “Stanley is not here. I am hopin’ you decided to take him with you. Please write back.”

After several abortive attempts to remove Stanley from his lap, Draco accepts a pen and a piece of hotel paper from Harry and writes out an apologetic note in the neatest script he can manage while using a wriggling beetle as a writing desk. Harry attaches the note to the owl and closes the window firmly behind it. Uncertain, he sits beside Draco and strokes Stanley’s shell.

“I could take him back to the Apparation Point—I could probably be back in less than an hour,” he suggests.

Draco nods, looking around at the beautiful room, the huge, luxurious bed, the closed door beyond which he knows lies a vast bathroom with slate tiles and a tub big enough for two. He thinks of the weekend he has so carefully planned, room service and spa treatments and complete, perfect peace. And then he looks at the clicking, scrabbling bundle of beetle in his lap—a creature so determined to be with him that it has secreted itself in a suitcase and refused to be left behind.

“You would have had a lovely time with Hagrid,” he says, sighing as a ray of sunlight illuminates the room and makes Stanley’s little black eyes gleam with hopeless appeal.

Tack?

Guiltily, he looks up at Harry, whose face is already arranged in an expression of amused acceptance.

“I know,” he says, kissing the corner of Draco’s mouth and patting Stanley.

“I can’t send him away,” Draco says crossly, even as he does so quite unsure of who he is actually cross with.

“I know,” Harry repeats.

“So much for getting away from the little horrors,” Draco says, taking off Stanley’s boots one by one and placing them on the bedside cabinet next to a bottle of fancy mineral water.

“Ah, but this is your little horror,” Harry says, picking up Stanley and flopping onto his back on the bed, holding the beetle up high and watching his little legs cycling in the air. “Maybe... ours?” he adds uncertainly.

Draco bites on the edge of a smile. “I think Stanley would like that.”

**~*~**

Several hours later, Draco blinks awake to find that the room has been filled by the gentle oranges, pinks and golds of the setting sun. Warm and comfortable, he stretches languorously and levers himself up on his elbows to take in the view of the sunset over the rippling water. Beside him, Harry is snoozing gently, hair rumpled and skin gently flushed. Draco leans down over him, brushing his lips against the faint prickle of stubble and smiling as Harry stirs slowly awake.

It has been a long and rather wonderful afternoon. After a good fuss, a few games involving hotel stationery and the exploratory possibilities of waste paper baskets, Stanley had been happy to settle down on the soft armchair by the window and sleep in the sunshine. Having been given the opportunity to resume their weekend plans, Harry and Draco had seized it, shedding clothes, running baths and ordering room service in a frenzy. Stanley hadn’t even protested at being covered with a towel when the room service had arrived, and the man with the silver tray and the sharp suit had declined to comment on the small dish of fresh mint leaves that had made up part of their order.

All in all, Draco thinks, the day has been unexpectedly successful so far.

“Fancy a swim?” Harry says, running a hand up Draco’s back.

“How very civilised,” Draco murmurs, kissing him and hoping that the pool is nice and quiet.

When they reach the spa reception, however, all hell is breaking loose.

“Oh my god, what is it?!”

“It’s just someone messing around... obviously...”

“You don’t sound very sure!”

“Fuck, no, it’s a rat!” cries a woman with a lot of gold jewellery, just as Harry and Draco step into the fragrant, overheated room.

Several people, at least two of them members of hotel staff, are clustered around the reception desk, faces horror-struck as they watch something in the opposite corner of the room. Unnerved, Draco follows their gaze and his heart sinks. Something is scuttling around on the tiled floor. A Stanley-sized something, covered in a white towel.

“Do you really think it’s a rat?” someone else says, a wobble in his voice.

“No,” Draco says sharply, opening his mouth to say, ‘No, of course it isn’t a fucking rat! How dare you?’ when Harry kicks him in the ankle and interrupts:

“Yeah, it’s definitely a rat. A big one. Wow... that’s terrible,” he says, turning on the uniformed staff with a creditable look of disgust on his face. “Don’t you think that’s appalling, Draco?”

Draco coughs, keeping one eye on the white bundle, which is now trundling through the open door towards the swimming pool. “Er, yes. It’s atrocious. Absolutely revolting.”

“You should be ashamed,” says the woman with the jewellery, picking up the tirade easily. “I thought this was a nice place!”

“I don’t know how it could have...” The receptionist shakes her head and gazes appealingly at her colleague.

“Maybe we should have a look under the towel,” he suggests.

Alarmed, Draco positions himself between the man and the open door, turning him away from the monitor that covers the swimming pool just in time. The bundle containing Stanley has just scuttled out from under a reclining chair and flung itself into the water.

“I know what we should do,” Harry says suddenly, easily commanding the attention of the group. “We should all go up to the main reception and complain.”

“You’re right, young man,” says the man with the wobbly voice, sounding much stronger now.

“We might get a discount,” whispers the lady with the jewellery, and a little ripple breaks out amongst the others.

“I really don’t think...” the uniformed man tries, but his colleague quickly shushes him, and Draco is grateful. He has the feeling that memories are going to have to be modified here, and the fewer the better.

As everyone begins to filter out of the spa, Harry and Draco position themselves at the back of the group, and when the last guest has exited, Harry shuts the door and locks it with a quick wandless spell.

“A rat? Really?” Draco hisses as they hurry through the changing rooms and into the pool room, where they undress quickly.

“It wasn’t my idea,” Harry points out. “I was just trying to go with popular opinion.”

“Since when do you ever do that?” Draco demands, lowering himself into the pool and wincing at the sensation of the cool water against his skin after the oppressive heat of the reception.

“Look, I was just trying to help your idiotic beetle,” Harry snaps, flinging himself into the water with a splash and swimming out towards Stanley.

“Oh, my beetle, is he now?” Draco says, stung.

“I didn’t mean—”

“We know what you meant,” Draco mutters, pulling himself through the water towards Stanley.

The beetle tacks happily and splashes in the water, apparently unperturbed by the depth or the argument. Draco isn’t quite sure what is keeping him afloat but he seems happy enough, turning in circles and paddling in and out of the mass of sodden white towel.

“Is he alright?” Harry asks, swimming up beside them. He attempts to pick up Stanley but fails to hold onto him when he realises that his feet are no longer touching the bottom of the pool. He lets go, going under for a moment and coming up spluttering.

Draco stares at him, pointless irritation dissolving as he takes in the hair plastered to his forehead, the glasses—somehow still in place but dappled by water and slightly askew—the hopeful expression and the knowledge that the three of them might just be a family.

“He’s fine,” Draco says, pressing an apologetic kiss to Harry’s chlorine-soaked shoulder. “He’s an absolute menace, but he’s fine. I think it might be politic to remove him from the water before anyone comes back, though.”

Tack-tack-tack-tack-tack! Stanley offers, swishing his antennae through the water and wriggling all six legs at once.

“He seems to be enjoying himself,” Harry says, taking Draco’s lead and helping to gently propel Stanley along the surface of the water until he reaches the side. Finally, they are able to pull themselves out of the pool and lift the heavy beetle from the water.

TACK-tack-tack-tack-tack, clicks Stanley, apparently just as delighted to be back in Draco’s arms.

Hurriedly, they dress, dry clothes sticking to damp skin in their haste. Stanley is wrapped in a fresh dry towel and bundled under Draco’s arm as they scuttle through the abandoned reception, through the locked door, and right into three very unhappy looking people. Draco recognises the two employees from the spa, and the lady with the lipstick from the front desk, whose friendly smile has completely vanished as she stares coldly between Harry, Draco and the towel-wrapped Stanley.

“Would one of you like to explain exactly what is going on here?”

Harry and Draco glance at one another in silent desperation. Draco feels quite a lot like he is ten years old again and being told off by his governess, and Harry doesn’t seem to be faring much better. He doesn’t know what it is about this woman or this place, but he has the very real feeling he’d rather be standing in front of the entire school, being yelled at by McGonagall.

“You said there was a rat. You told everyone there was a rat in our spa,” says the other woman, the one in the white tunic, and she sounds genuinely scandalized.

“Actually, we didn’t,” Harry tries, but he is quickly silenced.

“You locked the door. How did you get the key?” the lipstick woman demands.

“It was probably just stuck,” Harry says suddenly.

Draco coughs. “Er, yes, well... heat... heat makes things expand, doesn’t it? Your door is probably too hot. You really ought to do something about that,” Draco says as stridently as he can manage, and he has the horrible feeling that Harry is trying not to laugh.

“Our door is too hot?” the woman repeats, drawing out each word with dangerous relish.

“Yes, that’s right. It’s... ah... physics,” Draco says triumphantly.

Harry lets out a small squawk. “It’s true,” he manages. “Draco is an expert on... erm... door expansion. And contraction. Which this door has now clearly undergone. Because it opens again, you see?” Harry reaches out and swings the door back and forth on its hinges. Draco daren’t even look at him, and to make matters worse, the bundle under his arm seems to be clicking softly.

“What’s that noise?” the woman says sharply, turning to Draco, and suddenly he isn’t afraid of her one little bit; he wants to laugh in her face and run off down the corridor, and somehow that is even worse.

“It’s me!” Draco cries, cringing even as the words leave his mouth.

Harry lets out a long, strangled sound, like someone letting the air out of a balloon.

“Excuse me?” the woman demands. The others, too, are now looking at Draco as though there is something very wrong with him.

“It’s me,” Draco repeats, biting the inside of his mouth and looking just over the woman’s shoulder in an attempt to avoid eye contact. “It’s... er... when I get nervous, I dance,” he says suddenly, shuffling his feet against the tiles in his best attempt at a tap routine. “Click, click!”

“It all makes sense!” Harry blurts, voice pitched rather higher than usual.

“No, sir, it makes absolutely no sense, and I still want to know exactly what is inside that towel!” the woman snaps, reaching for the bundle.

Draco steps back quickly. “There’s nothing. It’s just a towel.”

“Mr...”

“Malfoy.”

“Mr Malfoy, whether or not our magically expanding doors kept us out of the spa just now, we do have a video feed from the swimming pool in our security room, and we happen to know that whatever that thing is, you fished it out of the swimming pool and now you are attempting to take it away with you. Now tell me what it is before I have you arrested for stealing towels!”

“I think the important thing here is...” Harry begins, just as Draco protests:

“I can’t believe you think I would steal towels!”

“Shall we try again?” the woman asks with false kindness and Draco clutches Stanley tightly.

He can’t show him to her; that much is obvious. He’s a giant beetle. He’s a magical giant beetle. Muggles don’t have Stanleys, they have ordinary things, like...

“It’s my dog,” Draco says before he can think too hard about it. “My dog escaped and we found him again.”

The woman’s eyes narrow. “A dog? May I see it?”

Draco shakes his head. “No.”

“Mr Malfoy, I am going to have to ask...” she begins, stepping forward, and Harry groans. As Draco glances at him in alarm, he sees the furrowed brow, the closed eyes, the fingers splayed at his sides, and all he can do is hope, because that woman is backing him against a wall and her fingers are pulling at the edges of the towel, and Draco has to look away.

“Oh... good heavens,” she mumbles, taking a step back, and Draco glances down at the creature in his arms.

Stanley is the ugliest dog he has ever seen.

**~*~**

“I can’t quite believe I’m voluntarily walking with something so unfortunate looking,” Draco says, staring at the afflicted creature at the end of Stanley’s lead.

“You can take the case instead, if you want,” Harry says, kicking at the pebbles as they walk along the lakeside, little wheeled case bumping along behind them.

“No deal,” Draco says. “He’s still my Stanley. At least with the glamour he gets to have a run around outside, even if he does look like... well, that.”

For a moment, there is silence, as both of them stare at the beetle’s disguise. Draco feels for Stanley, who is accustomed to symmetry and delicate patterns and a gleaming, beautiful shell, now inhabiting the form of a scruffy blue-grey dog of indeterminate ancestry and indiscernible grooming. Not one of his bony, shaggy legs is quite the same length as the others, his eyes are bulbous and sticky, and his nose looks as though it has been sewn on.

“I think it could have been a lot worse,” Harry says at last. “I’ve never done a wandless glamour before, and I didn’t exactly have a lot of time.”

“I think you did an excellent job,” Draco says. “There really was no need to kick us out of the hotel.”

“Well, they might have overlooked the dog thing if they hadn’t decided that you were completely mad, with your expanding doors and your tap dancing,” Harry says, failing to hide a smile.

Draco flushes, watching as Stanley-dog investigates a sleeping duck. “Never mind, we can find somewhere else to stay. Somewhere that doesn’t mind how ugly our dog-beetle is.”

“Oh, what an unusual dog,” coos an old lady in a vast tapestried coat. “What’s his name?”

Tack-tack-tack! Stanley enthuses, running over to greet her, and she pales.

Draco sighs. “Or, you know... we could just go home.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] The Stowaway by Saras_Girl](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7220731) by [originally reads (originally)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/originally/pseuds/originally%20reads)




End file.
